05
The dining room of the Moretti estate was a masterpiece of intimidation. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers that caught the morning light like jagged diamonds, and a table long enough to host a small army. But today, it felt like an interrogation room.
I sat at the foot of the table, my back stiff and my hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling. Across from me, Dante was calmly cutting into a piece of steak, his movements precise and lethal. Between us sat the twins, Leo and Lia. They were happily eating pancakes, their small faces smeared with syrup, oblivious to the war being waged over their heads.
"You aren't eating, Elena," Dante remarked without looking up. "The chef made your favorite eggs Benedict with a hint of truffle. Or have you forgotten your taste for the finer things, too?"
I forced a small, fragile smile. "I... I'm just not very hungry. My head still aches a little."
"The doctor said your appetite would return once you felt safe," Dante said, finally lifting his gaze. His grey eyes were like flint, sparking with a warning. "Are you telling me you don't feel safe in your own home?"
I felt the weight of the diary pressed against my skin, hidden beneath my silk blouse. Every time I breathed, the paper crinkled slightly, a sound that felt as loud as a thunderclap in the quiet room.
"I feel... overwhelmed," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.
I turned my attention to the children. I looked at Leo, who was currently busy making a tower out of his fruit. I searched his face for any trace of myself. The shape of his eyes, the curve of his chin I saw Dante in him clearly, but the other half? It was a blank canvas.
I remember what he did to the real mother of the twins. The words from the diary screamed in my mind.
"Mama, look!" Lia giggled, holding up a strawberry. "It looks like a heart!"
I reached out, my fingers grazing her soft cheek. A sudden, sharp memory flashed in my mind not of these children, but of a cold, damp room and the sound of someone crying. It was so vivid I almost gasped aloud.
"Is something wrong, Elena?" Dante's voice sliced through the vision. He had stopped eating, his fork poised in mid-air.
"Nothing," I said quickly, withdrawing my hand. "She's just... she's very beautiful."
"She looks exactly like her mother," Dante said. His voice was thick with a strange, dark irony. "A woman of great beauty and even greater secrets. It's a shame those secrets usually lead to tragedy."
The threat was clear. He was watching me, testing me to see if I had found anything in that library. I picked up my silver fork, my hand shaking so much it clattered against the fine china. I forced myself to take a bite of the eggs, though they tasted like dust in my mouth.
"I was thinking," I started, trying to keep my voice steady, "that maybe I should see a specialist. Someone who deals specifically with memory loss. Perhaps in the city?"
Dante's expression darkened instantly. The calm facade he had been wearing since we left the pier began to crack.
"I have already hired the best doctors in the country, Elena. They will come to the house. There is no need for you to leave this estate again. Not after last night."
He stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He walked around the table, stopping behind me. He leaned down, his hands resting on my shoulders. His grip was firm, almost painful.
"Don't go looking for doors that are meant to stay locked," he whispered into my ear, his breath cold against my skin.
"Focus on being a wife. Focus on these children. That is the only reality you need."
He kissed the top of my head and signaled for the nanny to take the children away. As the room emptied, I realized that the diary wasn't just a record of the past it was a map of the crimes Dante was still committing.
I waited until I heard his car pull away from the driveway before I dared to move. I needed to find a way to contact Razack again.
But more than that, I needed to find out where Dante was keeping the truth.
If I wasn't the mother of these children, then somewhere out there, a woman was either grieving or dead because of the man I was supposed to love.
I stood up, my resolve hardening. I wasn't Elena the victim anymore. I was a woman with a weapon hidden in her clothes, and I was going to burn his house of lies to the ground.
I stood up, my resolve hardening. I wasn't Elena the victim anymore. I was a woman with a weapon hidden in her clothes, and I was going to burn his house of lies to the ground.
The sound of the heavy oak door closing behind the nanny and the children left me in a silence that felt predatory. I stood alone in the vast dining room, the scent of expensive truffles and cold coffee lingering in the air.
My hand went instinctively to my waist, feeling the sharp corner of the diary through the fabric of my blouse.
It felt like it was burning me, a physical reminder that I was living a double life.
I walked over to the large windows that looked out onto the sprawling gardens. From here, I could see the tall stone walls topped with security cameras that swivelled back and forth like mechanical eyes. Dante didn't just want a wife; he wanted a bird in a gilded cage that sang only the songs he composed.
"You think you've won, don't you?" I whispered to the empty room.
I knew I couldn't stay in the dining room for long. The house was filled with "invisible" eyes maids who refused to look me in the eye, guards who stood like statues at every exit. I needed to find a safe place to read the rest of that diary. I needed to know who "the real mother" was before Dante returned and stripped me of my only weapon.
As I made my way back toward the grand staircase, I passed a long hallway lined with oil paintings of the Moretti ancestors. Cold, stern men with the same grey eyes as Dante. They seemed to watch me, their painted gazes judging my every step. I felt like an intruder in a history that wasn't mine.
Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a piano playing from somewhere deep within the house. It was a haunting, melancholy melody that pulled at a string in my heart I didn't know existed. Without thinking, I followed the sound, my feet moving of their own accord.
I reached a small, sun drenched room at the end of the east wing. There, sitting at a grand piano, was Lia. Her small fingers moved across the keys with a grace that was far beyond her years. She didn't see me standing in the doorway. She was lost in the music, her eyes closed, a small frown of concentration on her face.
A wave of protectiveness washed over me. Whether these children were mine or not, they were innocent souls trapped in Dante's web of deception. If the diary was true, and their real mother had been replaced, then they were victims just as much as I was.
"Lia?" I said softly.
The music stopped abruptly. She turned around, her eyes wide with surprise. "Mama! Did you hear? I'm practicing the song you taught me."
My heart stopped. "The song... I taught you?"
"Yes," she nodded, her pigtails bouncing. "You said it was a secret song from the 'island of dreams.' You told me never to play it when Papa was home."
I felt a chill run down my spine. A secret song. A memory I couldn't access was right there in front of me, manifesting in the music of a child. I realized then that the truth wasn't just hidden in diaries or at the Old Pier it was woven into the very fabric of this house, hidden in the things Dante couldn't control.
"It's beautiful, Lia," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Keep playing. But remember... keep it our secret."
I backed out of the room, my mind spinning. Every discovery was a new puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. I hurried back to my bedroom and locked the door, leaning my back against the wood. My hands were shaking as I pulled the diary out.
I flipped to the next page, my eyes scanning the jagged lines of my own handwriting.
November 20th. He's started the treatments again. The blue pills make the world fuzzy, but the basement... I can still hear the scratching from the basement. If anyone finds this, look under the fountain in the North Garden. The key is there. The key to everything.
I stared at the words until they blurred. The North Garden. The fountain. I had a mission now. I wasn't just surviving anymore; I was hunting for the key to my own life. And I wouldn't stop until I found out what or who was scratching in the basement of the Moretti estate.